My Country - My People ( Epic Poem ) Canto - 1
Seshendra Sharma 1927 (Nagarazupadu Village : AP : India) – 2007 (Hyderabad : India)
CANTO 1
A hand rises out of the dawn, the hand of the toiler of time, it is raised dipped in the Blood and sweat of human fields; it scatters sindoor to long shadows and distances. I open my eyes and from my little window greet the birds and clouds, flying about in the air. I fling a sigh at them that all my dreams are only their wings. I share the loving gift of Sun, my day, with them. I am born out of the grain, I live for the grain and dead I go back into the grain. I make Poems with molecules of sounds and like glasses Made out of particles of sand, lilt them into tunes. With yarn which dreams of colours, weave saris to drape women of my country and Release them like butterflies in the meadows of Human life. I make ships, launch them in the oceans, to carry and go flying my people’s flags: I lay roads into dreams, I build mansions Into the clouds, with my life I raise massive walls On the frontiers of my country, high into the chest Of our enemies; I give shapes, forms and voices to rocks and release them from silences. I plough all the Fields of human life; what beauty has I not Created with this hand! What thing on earth did Not surrender to this hand? But this hand has remained ever empty! I had no place in bygone history and the Present history has no scruples. Why I build dams, Why I till lands, I do not know! I live in zero, but I walk along. Man is the walking tree, whose roots have changed into legs. Had I remained a tree, I could have
had A spring every year; having become a man, I have Lost all the springs on earth. From my childhood, trees have been growing, roads have been walking, towns and villages have been jumping and dancing in joy, but I walk alone with empty hands in my country; where I have nothing of my own, only my memories to follow behind me, with myself as the leader of the procession and my burning red desire, flying as my flag
* * *
Moments are not the retinue of time. There is one which decides the turning point of mankind. I can’t hand over to sighs that time which stands and beckons me. To hell with the shades to recline and chew the gum of past. Remember, the storms do not count for a life which strides with hills and shifts oceans; the fiercest storms blow off while Struggles of life flit around like flies. Look! Drunk on pearls of sweat, the sun grows large and formidable bestows millions sickles and hammers of light. In history where savage winds blow in cantos, I cannot be like the braches of trees that remain trembling in the hands Of unrelenting winds. Do not query why so restless, ask the ocean why it is restless. Do not say why so furious; ask the hurricane for the answer. Know, that time after all is my paper, upon which I write the Charter of my dreams for the world, sculpture a colossus of force Out of man;
my will, will shout and throw a new era on the earth- It shall confer unrest on man and Flow like red-hot blood through all the roads of our villages and make him into a sea and into a tempestuous storm. I shall gift that consciousness to my country with my four dimensional poems…. Now, centuries will speak the language, which I learnt in the wombs of forests; My word will be the legacy to future generations; my poems, only countries and nations deserve
* * *
Last year’s spring flowed away like a river; into which orchards it meandered and slept, I do not know But the spring returned, searching for the mango tree in the backyard of my house! Everything in the world is fleeting, yet keeps returning, searching for the beautiful. Behind the leaves in the branches I see footsteps of birds, marks of the moments which flew away last year. in my tired journey, my tavern is the shade of a tree, and the guest is the fallen flower. This is spring, the year’s first dream, in which I trudge my way on the body of my country like the dream that preludes the dawn, covering my nakedness forest, tying the rivers as my turbans, carrying my road on my shoulders. I walk, coaxing the fields that are crying; I walk, yearning to sculpture my country’s hills that have waited for forms, into lions, into elephants and camels..Into workers, toilers, tillers, lovers and into epics that are like their crowns.the sun is coming with loads of morning rays stacked on bullock carts! The tree that saw me first and shed tears, now rained flowers on my dream.
- Seshendra Sharma
http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com
About this poem
MY COUNTRY – MY PEOPLE Modern Indian Epic This important epic by one the great modern poets of India is written by a civilisation not by one man. This masterpiece brings Seshendra into prominence as one of the outstanding poets of this century. For writing this epic Seshendra has simplified his diction to reach his people and to record the impact of an age on the third world. This is the most memorable poems of our times; in its marathon stride the epic sweeps over the drama of the Third world civilisation. The reader will return to this book again and again, he will also find the wound inflicted on him by his adversaries for his genius, wanting to rout him out of his livelihood for being distinguished. A wealth of Poetic Heights My Country – My People is a wealth of poetic heights gathered together in the enormity of epic style , it is the modern form of epic . It is the Indian Epic which becomes the Epic of the entire Mankind touching the peaks of Modern Age. The seeds of the epic are in the womb of Yajurveda which are infact the seeds of Indian Consciousness. Heinrich Zimmer, the German Philosopher, called “Thaitthariya Upanishad ‘the Cosmic Communist Manifesto. It is the essence of this Manifesto that flows as the under – current in My country – My People. - Ali Sardar Jafri , Urdu Poet It was not only Tagore and Gandhi who crossed the frontiers of their country and reached the wider world and achieved universality...... Seshendra's epic poem 'My country My People' is evidence..... some important critics have compared this epic poem with T.S.Eliot's WASTELAND and 'L' ASCENSION' by St. John Perse. Personally I would compare the pain and anguish of the poet with one of Loutremont in his lyric 'Mald Aurore'. The difference is that Seshendra's protest is not made in the void. Seshendra walks firmly on his soil, one can find in the poet a wild whirlwind which attains incredible oratorial heights, creating terrific images... whirling within him is the idea of strength of life that is fighting the dark powers which want to take away its freedom and bread.... at times we observe in the poem a biblical and Prophetic tone that attracts us. NIKHEPHOROS VRETAKKOS (Greet Poet) Dearest Seshen! An epic, a long poem (Which Edgar Allen Poe called a contradiction in terms). But who am I to say No to a poem which chooses to assume the strangest of garbs in one of the finest of minds. So, so be it. Let me accept your OEUVRE as an epic. But why call it modern? it is timeless. Why call it Indian? It is spaceless. SRI SRI Indian poet ------------- Seshendra is colossus of modern Poetry. His literature is a unique blend of the best of poetry and poetics. His Homepage : Seshendra:Visionary Poet of the Millennium http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com presents essence / spirit of the millennium in powerful poetic style. Seshendra Sharma is one of the most outstanding minds of modern Asia. He is the foremost of the Telugu poets today who has turned poetry to the gigantic strides of human history and embellished literature with the thrills and triumphs of the 20th century. A revolutionary poet who spurned the pedestrian and pedantic poetry equally, a brilliant critic and a scholar of Sanskrit, this versatile poet has breathed a new vision of modernity to his vernacular.Such minds place Telugu on the world map of intellectualism. Readers conversant with names like Paul Valery, Gauguin, and Dag Hammarskjold will have to add the name of Seshendra Sharma the writer from India to that dynasty of intellectuals. *** Saatyaki, poet's son's Tribute to his beloved father on his 13th Anniversary *** Seshendra : Visionary Poet of the Millenium http:// seshendrasharma.weebly.com more »
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"My Country - My People ( Epic Poem ) Canto - 1" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 27 Mar. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/108136/my-country---my-people-----------------------------(-epic-poem-)-canto---1>.
Discuss this Seshendra Sharma poem with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In